


The Dragon and the Wolf

by MangoBait



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Adventure, Canon, Character building, College of Winterhold Questline, Companions, Drama, F/M, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible Eventual Smut, Rating May Change, Romance, Slow Burn, Things are going to get heated, Werewolves, off-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoBait/pseuds/MangoBait
Summary: With a mysterious past always following her, Narillian has attempted to settle for a life of calm and peace. However, when the Companions travel through Riverwood with tales of bravery and glory on their lips, her pull towards adventure thrives to life. Little did she know that, in taking that first step, she would plunge herself into the center of a prophecy foretold eras before.Bethesda owns the rights to the Elder Scrolls Skyrim and it's original content.





	1. Prologue

The fire in the center snapped and hissed. Embers flicked from the crackling flames and soared into the night sky to dance with the stars above. It heated the otherwise frigid night, casting a warm golden glow across the group. The air smelled heavy of cinder and ash, of pine and soft dirt. Wind gently whistled through the elms and evergreens, cloaks shuddered in the breeze as it whispered past them. A lone wolf howled in the distance, its cry indicating that the perimeter was safe.

_Never in all my life did I believe this is where I would end up._

The young woman wrung her hands, calloused fingers and scarred knuckles rough under her touch. A shiver flew up her spine. A chill so cold soaked into her bones that even the blazing heat before her could not banish it from her mind. She swallowed hard.

_Tomorrow… tomorrow will change everything. And I don’t know if I am remotely ready for it._

“Not exactly the evening I thought we would get,” the man to her right said, back pressed against the trunk of a juniper, words effectively pulling her from her internal ramblings. Nordic carved armor nestled beside him in the frost-covered grass. His steel great sword freshly whetted to his left.

The female Housecarl rolled her amber eyes. “And what _did_ you have in mind?”

“Could not be anything too creative. Icebrain has never been one for the imaginative,” a red headed huntress quipped, tapping the tip of her glass arrowhead with the pad of her finger to assure its sharpness.

The male grunted, sent his fellow shield-sister a pointed glare, and ignored the insult. “I was _thinking_ the World Eater would attempt to stop the pending attack. We weren’t subtle about our plans. I half expected the realm of Niflheim to tear through the skies and unleash a fiery hell upon us.”

The first woman’s stomach pinched. _That very well may still happen. Anything can happen._

The Housecarl spoke again. “He cannot reach us, remember? That was the whole point of sending him to Sovngarde in the first place.”

The Huntress scoffed, “We were told that by another _dragon_ , one we do not know if we can trust. Resting so much faith in him is unwise and foolish.”

“Regardless of _where_ he is, I am certain he can see us,” the male retorted.

“I want to side with my brother on this,” interjected a second man, gesturing towards his twin. “Preparing ourselves is not a bad idea. We are at Skuldafn, need I remind you?”

 _I do not need reminding._ _I am the one that got us here. I am the one that convinced you all to join me._

She closed her eyes, head bowed forward. _I am the one to blame if anything should happen to you tomorrow. And I will never forgive myself if the worst should come to pass. Stendarr, please grant mercy on my traveling partners. I will give anything in return for that one wish._

The others prattled back and forth for a moment while her own attention remained trailed on the burning logs, of the ash in the earth at her feet. _Focus on what must be done. If you are prepared then perhaps no harm will come to them._

  _And perhaps the World-Eater will not destroy us all._

She felt a presence next to her but she did not need to look to know who it was. His hand fell on her shoulder, offering a tender squeeze for reassurance. “You haven’t said anything.”

“Excellent observation,” she muttered.

He let out a deliberate exhale, relaxing into the ground beside her. “We have your back, you know this.”

“I’m aware.” Her words were clipped, an attempt to conceal the emotion that traitorously rumbled underneath the surface but even she caught the way her voice wavered at the end.

“You aren’t alone.” His fingers intertwined with hers, his thumb caressing against the palm of her hand. He understood, he always did. She need not tell him how she felt for him to know.

She tore her gaze from the inferno to meet his, her silver against his bronze. “I’m scared,” she breathed, confession barely audible.

“We all are. But we are in this together.”

She nodded hesitantly. _So much has happened. And to think, all I wanted was adventure. Not to be swept up in some grand tale of prophecy._ _Had I known, I never would have gone to the watchtower, never would have helped kill that first dragon, never would have joined the Companions, never would have left Riverwood._

A second voice pushed through the first, _‘Would you really?’_ came its graveled question. _‘Could you truly go back to the life you held before?’_

She did not bother with an answer. It already knew.

_‘Don’t fool yourself, this path has always been yours and you have craved it since the beginning. You are afraid, and that fright is causing you to think illogically.’_

_You don’t know that._ But the reply sounded weak to her own ears.

_‘I know you, a perk of sharing your bloodline. And I am here if you need me.’_

_I don’t need you, not right now. Leave me._

_‘As you wish.’_

The presence subsided, leaving her mind her own once more. Though she hated to deny it, he had a point. He was right. Come the sun, she would be able and willing. After everything that had happened, going back now… it would be impossible.

“Tomorrow,” she started, her words directed to the man beside her.

“Tomorrow can wait,” he finished. “For now, get some rest.” His lips pressed against her temple, his breath tickled her cheek and swirled her white honeyed hair. She could not help the smile that flitted across her face, the flutter of her eyelids as she leaned into him. _Some good has come of this too._ _Not all has been soiled with darkness._

She stood, body shuddering from the lack of contact. “Join me?”

“In a bit, let me make sure everything is ready come sunrise. I will be there shortly.”

With her back to the group, their words faded in the slightest. _Block them out. Focus. Think of what must be done. Let nothing stop you._

_Not even Alduin himself._

The prophecy foretold eras before rang in her ears.

And here she was, in the center of it all.

_When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world._

_When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped._

_When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles._

_When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls._

_When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding._

_The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn._


	2. Chance Encounter

_Several months earlier…_

**_-oOo-_ **

Everything was crystal clear, snapping into focus as each second ticked by.

Her heart hammered a steady rhythm in her ears like the beat of a war drum pressuring her onwards.

Her breaths were smooth, even, controlled… _focused_.

Every movement was powered with precision, accuracy, artfully crafted from her years of training.

She dodged with ease under the blade of her assailant, the metal whistling a mere inch above the crest of her forehead. Her wrist snapped out in return, her own hilt cold as ice in her gloved palm as she twisted her steel forwards. The tip dug into the soft flesh of the bandit’s exposed stomach, easily breaking the skin and delving deep into his gut.

He grunted, eyes widening in surprise as pain registered in his senses, his hands clumsily dropped his daggers to find refuge in her own blade. His actions were weak, feeble, utterly useless as he attempted to remove the sword from his torso.

His lips parted, a final sigh escaping past them as his body slumped, pitched and sagged to the stone floor. She pulled her weapon free at the last moment, a grimace drawn tight across her facial features. “You should have known better than to attack me,” she muttered.

The fort grew quiet save for the howl of the wind through the narrow passages and the clatter of rain droplets from the ramparts outside. The man at her feet had been the last. His eyes were already glassing over, the life force sliding away from him in pursuit of Sovngarde. _Perhaps the Gods will have more patience for you than I did._

Upon cleaning her blade she knelt to the bandit’s side and snagged the jailor’s key from his pocket. She had come here for a purpose, but getting the chance to deliver justice to a gang of slavers in the process was always a welcome bonus.

She could still taste the iron laden blood on her tongue as she took the steps into the lower level of the fort, her booted feet padding against the cobble and dirt, belt jingling in the slightest with each step. Dust caked her leather armor, clung to the silver clasps and buckles, embedded under her fingers as she used them to unlock the cage door.

This wasn’t the place for slaves. It wasn’t the place for _anyone_.

Before her laid a shivering woman, head bowed forwards, hands clasped above her head. “P-please, don’t hurt me,” she whimpered, words spoken with trembling voice.

“I have come here to free you,” the first woman assured. “But we must go quickly, before reinforcements arrive.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! May the Eight bless you!” the second replied, standing. “You truly are wonderful, the best fighter ever!” Her rags hung around her loosely, the stench of body odor wafted off of her quivering frame.

“I appreciate the sentiment but we must flee. Hurry!” the first cocked her chin towards the door, towards their exit. _Gratitude can be saved for later!_

The second nodded obediently and crept from her cell, her body slender and skeletal, dark circles curling under her eyelashes, cheeks gaunt and sunken.

As the second reached the stairs she faltered, turning to her savior, a question in her irises. “Are you there?”

The first crinkled her brows together. “Sorry?”

The once-slave’s tone altered, morphed, became deeper and gruffer. “Lass, pull your head out of the clouds.” The world pulsed, wavered around the edges, fogged over.

“But I-…” _No, this isn’t right. What is happening?_

_“Narillian!”_

Narillian gasped, eye lids fluttering as she blinked several times. The fort and its grimy walls disappeared, fizzled out of existence and in its place was the tavern. The howl of the wind silenced, the rain ceased… and returned the clank of glasses and the tune of a song across the rafters.

Ognar grunted beside her, nudging her with his muscled shoulder. “Delphine almost caught you.”  The woman in question was indeed making her way towards the pair though her eyes were settled on her male counterpart and not the day dreaming server to his right.

Narillian straightened and tugged at her crinkled apron, glancing towards the barkeep with a sheepish grin. “Thank you. _Again_.”

“No problem, lass. Where were you this time?”

She simply shook her head in response, white golden curls jostling against her cream colored tunic. “Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t real anyhow.” _It never is…_

_And likely never will be… Not as long as I’m stuck here._

Her eyes rolled, a scold on her tongue. _Stuck isn’t the right word. Not truly._ Just… everything had grown so monotonous. So mundane. _Dull_. She was in a rut and going nowhere. Destined to wait tables and bus dishes until she grew old and her hair grayed.

_Speaking of…_

The bustling of the Sleeping Giant Inn was a near constant in Riverwood, a known fact made even more prevalent as the evening hours dwindled on. Glass mugs slammed onto tables, clay plates shuffled between patrons and servers, dirt crusted boots stomped against the creaky wooden floorboards as they kept pace with the rhythm of Sven’s lute; the bard’s gaze trained on Camilla much to Faendal’s chagrin. Hardy laughter boomed from a bench near the fire pit as stories were traded back and forth, as bets were made, as men and women joined in yet another round of ‘Ragnar the Red’. _The fifth round tonight._

The overabundance of warmth eased into Narillian’s sore muscles from her spot next to the bar, released the tension between her shoulders as she gently rolled them. It was safe here, calm, relaxing. _It may not be home, but its close._

_It’s comforting, or as close as we are going to get to it.  No matter how mind-numbing it has become._

The added smell of freshly baked bread and honeyed mead helped, even if they did make her stomach rumble in protest. _Finish the shift and then you can eat._

“Another round!” hollered Hadvar as his Uncle came to sit beside him, waving towards her as if to remind her of her duties.

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement before grasping the pitcher from the counter beside Ognar. “What is it?” he was muttering to Delphine, the owner of the tavern.

“Are you even listening?” she quipped, a frown engraved onto her features making them look harder and fiercer than they already were, if that was even possible.

Ognar winked at Nari before replying, “Hard not to.” _Yes, I catch the irony in Delphine’s question._

“I said the ale is going bad. We need a new batch. Did you hear me?” Delphine repeated.

“Yep, ale is going bad.”

She puffed out a sigh through pursed lips. "I guess you don't have potatoes in your ears after all. Just make sure we get a fresh batch in soon."

Ognar chuckled under his breath before turning to Narillian. “This one is good, lass,” he tilted his head towards the pitcher in her hands. “Checked it myself.”

Narillian offered a lopsided smirk. “Must you get on her nerves?”

“It’s my favorite pastime, what can I say?” he replied, gaze pivoting back to Delphine as she ladled stew into a customer’s bowl. “Someone needs to keep her on her toes, someone _other_ than yourself. Now, go on, get going. Don’t need you getting in trouble for standing around while we have people waiting. You’re already on her list.”

Narillian took his advice and made her way back to Hadvar, filling his and his Uncle’s cups. She had been caught in one too many day dreams for Delphine’s liking. The woman would likely never fire her, but Nari didn’t want to risk angering her either.

Pulling her mind from her own thoughts, she greeted, “It’s good to see you again, Alvor.”  

“Likewise. Sorry I have not been to visit more often, the forge is keeping me busier than normal.” He paused, taking a swig of ale before continuing, “Though, I hear you have had your fair share as well. My nephew says you’ve been improving with your swordplay. Those twin brothers of yours may have some catching up to do.” 

She flushed in the slightest. “Thank you. Though, honestly, I am practicing against straw dummies with a wooden sword. I hardly see how you can say I am _improving_ ,” she gave a pointed glare to Hadvar who rebutted with a sheepish grin. _Always embellishing._ She knew she was nowhere close to the woman in her dreams, no matter how much she wished she was.

_I will never get that chance. Never._

“You could probably take down a skeever if you really wanted to,” Hadvar tried to argue.

His uncle seemed to agree with, “I do not doubt that. Give yourself more credit, lass.”

A retort was on her tongue when the door to the tavern opened once more, allowing a puff of the cool night air in along with another patron.

Hadvar noticeably bristled. “Hell, you could, at the very least, handle _him_ ,” venom oozed into his voice on the final word.

“Hadvar,” Alvor chided with a whisper.

“I speak only truth, Uncle. That traitor is weak in comparison to Narillian. He has no spine, no backbone. No _honor_.”

“That _traitor_ used to be your _friend_. We are still brothers in Skyrim regardless of who we stand for.”

“I could never call someone who stands with Ulfric my ‘brother’.”

Nari watched as Ralof eased himself into a chair next to the hearth and looped a brotherly arm around Gerdur. Stormcloak. That’s what he was.  Though whether she believed him to be ally or foe, she wasn’t certain. Skyrim was not her homeland and she was not interested in getting involved with the Civil War when she knew so very little.

Either way, Ralof and Hadvar had equally welcomed her family to Riverwood five years ago… picking sides between them made her gut twist with discomfort. _Why can’t things go back to the way they were?_

_Because everything good must always come to an end._

And she was foolish for thinking otherwise. A lesson she should had learned already.

“Narillian,” Delphine’s voice rang above the rest. “Can you handle the new table?”

 _New… table?_ Her mind groggily caught up to the present.

Her gaze shifted across the enclosed space. Ralof was still speaking to Gerdur, Hadvar was deep in dispute with his Uncle, Sven and Faendal were in the midst of some rather haughty staring contest, the local drunk Embry was wedged into a corner mulling over the mead in his clammy hands. Fordnar and his pup, Stump, were settled by the main door, the young lad playing with some contraption. And… seated around the roaring pit in the center of the tavern indeed rested several new faces. 

Faces she had never seen before.

They were clad in strange armor, steel in the making with the face and embodiments of a wolf melded into the metal. Their arms bristled with toned muscle and a plethora of scars and scrapes, each likely able to tell its own story. Their weapons varied from gruesome greatswords to masterfully crafted bows and shields. War paint dotted their faces in swooping arches and sharp angles. _Who… who are they?_

She could almost hear the kiss of their blades, the battle cries on their lips. _Warriors. Might ones_ , if she had to guess. _And what are they doing here?_

“You jest, Aela!” boomed a bald headed man, a smile flitting across his lips as Narillian made her way to their table, easily stealing her focus even as she poured ale into their waiting mugs. “There is no way you took down two bears on your own.” _Two bears? On her own? Were they warriors?_

Narillian could picture: two ferocious beasts with claws marred in crimson blood, a swift and agile ranger with bow stretched and arrow notched, locked in combat.

“Vilkas will vouch for me,” the fiery red haired huntress in question countered, pointing towards a male nord across the hearth from her, a shield tied to his back and blade sheathed on his hip. “He was there.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” the man named Vilkas replied. “I don’t want to get on Skjor’s bad side.”

Another nord to his left… a twin perhaps, the two looked nearly identical in every way aside from height and stature, added, “And I had to hear about it for months afterwards.”

“Whelp,” Aela muttered. “You act like the added training did not benefit you, carrying on like a new pup.” Then, quieter to Nari as she grew closer to her. “Just give us whatever the barkeep is serving. We are not picky eaters.” Nari gave a bob of her head in understanding, waving towards Ognar and Delphine.

Vilkas snorted. “He had me head to Secunda’s Kiss and kill a giant. _A giant_!”

“Farkas was with you,” Skjor interjected before taking a sip of his spiced mead and giving a nod of appreciation to Nari who had filled it. “The two of you were more than capable.”

 “ _My brother_ ,” Vilkas said deliberately as he looped an arm around his twin’s shoulders, “Is indeed capable. But it was a giant. And he had his friends to help. Including a mammoth.” _By the Nine, did they actually fell a mammoth and a giant?_

Again Narillian’s mind flashed: twins charging into battle, sun glistening off of their steel-crafted weapons. It would have been a sight to see.

 “Sounds like a lot of whining to me,” Aela quipped, rolling her green eyes.

“Let’s see you handle a giant on your own then,” Farkas challenged, a dare of sorts.

“Next time we see one, you’re on, Icebrains.” The huntress extended a hand which the taller twin took, giving it a hardy shake. The deal was struck.

“Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn,” Delphine greeted as the conversation ended, stew pot in hand. “What do we owe this pleasure? Wasn’t expecting to see the Companions this far South.”

_Wait… did she… no, these were the Companions?_

_Companions… as in_ the _Companions? The Companions that lived in Whiterun?_ Those _Companions?_

_The Companions that felled beasts and saved damsels in distress? Here? In Riverwood? Brave fighters of all that was right?_

The bald one, Skjor, answered, “We had a mission in Falkreath, figured we would stop here before returning to Jorrvaskr. Rest up for a night,” then he paused before continuing in a louder voice, “See if we could find some new recruits.”

The tavern fell quiet. Narillian’s heart shuddered.

_Recruits._

_To join… the Companions?_

_Fate, is that you? Are you throwing me a bone?_

Skjor went on, “Of course, it is not easy work and we would test your metal before allowing you to travel with us back home. But all are welcome to join.”

Hadvar stood from his positon aside his uncle. “Where could we meet you?” He could not hide the excitement in his tone, the way his eyes shimmered in the candlelight. Like many others, he could not deny himself the chance to stand toe to toe with some of the greatest warriors in all of Skyrim. Boasting aside, it would be a wonderful learning opportunity for him.

Vilkas replied, “By the river on the northern edge of town leading out of the village. We will make camp there. Training will start tomorrow at sunrise.”

Ralof joined his once-friend. “Anyone can attempt?” he requested clarification. Though the two may never speak, Ralof and Hadvar were still very much the same… in every way.

Vilkas bobbed his head. “That is correct.”

Faendal hesitated from his perch near the bar. “Do you take archers as well?”

“We take any and all,” Aela responded. “As long as your heart is strong and your will is true.”

 _Anyone? As in… well, anyone?_ Narillian felt her breath hitch. _Could this be her chance?_ Her mind’s eye flashed to her daydream, to the woman who wielded a sword like it was an extension of her arm, who fought for the wellbeing of those around her.

Quiet murmuring fell across the Sleeping Giant Inn.

The Companions themselves returned to their idle chatter, recalling tales of adventures from the past.

But Narillian wasn’t hearing any of it.

No… She was already planning.

She would be there tomorrow.

 


End file.
